


Crucible

by annhellsing



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Clothed Sex, Costumes, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Post-The Roman Episode, Praise, backstage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25077628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annhellsing/pseuds/annhellsing
Summary: Words aren't always needed to express how impactful a performance was.
Relationships: Furuichi Sakyo/Reader, Furuichi Sakyou/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	Crucible

And nothing in the world could steal the hook of his invincible smile. It’s quite a sight, watching Sakyo’s pride bloom as pretty as springtime-- even as October rolls through the city and brings its chill.

He did well on stage. He moved like a little boy who’d been waiting twenty years to get his chance. Better late than never.

He was so handsome, still is handsome with the sharp brim of his fedora casting a shadow over his eyes. And his pressed overcoat hangs from his shoulders but never falls. It’s too perfect to be casual, he’s too perfect.

But all Sakyo allows himself is that smile. Then, he tucks himself up in his room. He’s gone before you even have time to open your mouth, to speak every word you’ve ever tried to hide from him. 

Congratulations. You made it. You belong here. You’re loved.

The door closes with a quiet creak. It’s not enough to keep you out, though you doubt he was purposefully trying to. Instead you suppose he might be trying to keep himself in. To process in small sections the euphoria that is so clearly undeserved.

Bullshit. Nonsense. You try the handle and it swivels under your palm. You push your way inside.

“Sakoda, if I have to explain again the importance of knocking--” his voice sounds like a stone sinking. And there is no smile when he turns. 

His hat is still on his head, yes, but his coat has already been cast aside. Sakyo’s suit jacket is unbuttoned, his hand tugging on the tie knotted at his throat. He’s already set aside that brief moment of pride, trying to worm his way out of the uncomfortable feeling.

When he’s back in his day clothes, he convinces himself, reality won’t seem so harsh.

But he’s stopped in his tracks when he sees who’s standing at the other end of the room. You close the door quickly behind you to preserve a bit of his modesty. Rowdy teenage boys don’t need more ammunition than they already have.

“I didn’t knock for a reason,” you tell him. “I was hoping--”

“I’m getting ready for the wrap party,” he replies. He’s brusque, off-puttingly so. You’ve heard Sakyo angry before, but this is another beast entirely. There is a quiet plea in his voice when he continues, “So, do you mind?”

“I do,” you say. You step forward.

He knows how to tell you to leave, his tongue even fits around the syllables. But he can’t bring himself to say it, to drive another wedge between him and you.

“I wanted to tell you how amazing you were,” you say, “in private.”

“Thank you,” he nods. And the tops of his shoes must be suddenly very interesting to him. He finds it hard to meet your sincere gaze.

And to confront the look in your eye that says you want to do more than just tell him something.

You take another step and he’s filled with almighty fear. That’s love, he knows it too well. Nothing in the world makes one want to stay put, or to run as fast as one can. One extra step is all it takes to make his poor heart race.

He lifts his head, meets your stare and quiet grin. You’re happy for him, for his pride that he’s suffocated prematurely.

“You were smiling after the curtain call,” you tell him like it wasn’t his mouth it curled on. You have a way of holding yourself, a looseness that he can’t inhabit. No one’s been anything other than afraid of him for so long. But you walk to him like a lover.

Like he’s a husband you’ve come home to.

His office chair holds his coat. It’s poised right behind him, almost like it’s waiting. Your eyes flit to it and the plan you hadn’t planned starts to solidify in your mind. You draw yourself close to him, chest to chest in a way he’s partially familiar with. You and him have been friendly. But he thought that it was only ever for the sake of stress relief.

The two of you are the opposite of anxious, or at least you should be. Him, on the other hand-- it’s a different story.

“Come,” you tell him, “be proud, you did so well.”

“I--” he clears his throat, glancing over your shoulder at the closed but unlocked door.

He can’t help but flinch when you raise your hand. You, who holds so much power over him, is the only person Sakyo can think of who he’d allow to bring the pain. But you rest your palm on his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over the mole under his eye.

You’ve done that before and it’s only ever elicited surface level annoyance. A reminder that while you indulge certain desires with him, he will never be truly yours. This time it’s different, it feels different and he gives up a soft sigh. There’s a slight tremor in his shoulders.

“Smile, darling,” you say, your voice is soft and he knows the tone well. You’re trying to be enticing and goodness, it’s working. “Smile for me, you look beautiful when you do.”

His face stays stony, but your expression hardly shifts at all. Ah well, you didn’t expect a miracle.

Your hand moves from his cheek to his jaw, tracing that sharp line until goosebumps bloom on his skin. His neck is explored next, the neat column artfully lined and a little bit tense under your hand.

“Relax, Sakyo,” you say, “I won’t hurt you.”

And the admission is so honest, so truthful that he can’t help but believe it. He loosens up, almost taken by surprise. You acknowledge that he has cause to worry, to believe himself in danger when his vulnerable parts are laid bare. You don’t shame him for that.

Your fingers touch the collar of his shirt, pulling the fabric aside very gently. Under it, you find the red lip print you left before the start of the show. You made him weak in the knees when you claimed it was for good luck. Evidently, it worked.

He wants another for a job well done. Sakyo’s glad to have the chair behind him, just in case.

“You look sexy in this,” you mutter, your voice sounds heavy and sweet this close. You take the knot of his tie in your hand, it’s loosened enough to be no danger when you pull it taught. Sakyo grunts and leans with the tug. “Of course, you’d look sexier out of it.”

“But--” he starts, amazed that he can force out words with your lips now so close to his. It’s everything in him to swallow a soft whimper. 

“I know, cast party. I suppose you won’t have time to change,” you say. You sound genuinely disappointed, which throws him for a loop. You’ve already made up your mind about what you plan to do to him, it seems. 

And though Sakyo knows very well that he could stop such talk with a word, he does not.

“I won’t?” he asks, delighted by the light in your eyes and yet deeply embarrassed by the desperation that clings to the inside of his throat. What could you be thinking about?

“No. Sit down,” you are so effortlessly beautiful, pressed up against him without any shame.

You lift your hand and take his sharp fedora. Pulling back, you set the hat on your head. Sakyo stares, a little in a daze that this could be happening for his own benefit. His couplings with you often feel like he is merely the lucky recipient of your general attention.

He never dared to think that your lust could be specific.

“But first, kiss me,” you sigh, you lean in close enough to tempt. “Claim your reward.”

Sakyo blinks, embarrassed to note that the offer of a kiss is what makes his cheeks flush. But with only a small amount of hesitation, he meets you halfway and presses his thin lips to yours. His fingers, delicate and long, tilt your chin very slightly upward.

“You wanted me to sit?” he asks for clarification when he breaks the kiss. It was a good kiss, he thinks, and he’ll be missing your soft mouth for some time. The haze in his eyes tells you he really does need confirmation again. He’s been rattled, how sweet.

“That’s right, be good for me and have a seat. If you won’t allow yourself to be, then let me show you how proud I am,” your hands at his shoulders help to guide him.

He does as you say, sitting heavily in his office chair. It’s nice, he thinks, to be the man at your side. You’re so very much like he remembers, but so much smarter now. So much more real and alive. You make jokes to ease his tension, you coax him into self-softness. And it feels so good.

But you don’t do as he expects. Far from it. Where you would usually straddle him, take him internally until his begging led you to have mercy on him-- this time, you sink to your knees.

Sakyo swallows hard. He knows how this will end.

You kiss him through his trousers, no time to wait or be shy. His legs were already spread, almost in anticipation of your prompt arrival. He’s been hard since you first put your hand to his cheek and he is not proud, but his cock gives a heady throb when you press your nose against his crotch.

“Aren’t we excited?” you tease him just to see if you can bring back some of that joy. It works a little, he exhales hard and white-knuckles the armrests.

“I thought we were short on time,” he comments and you lift an eyebrow. He can’t see you from under the brim of his hat, the uncertainty is unnerving. But when he presses his luck with clipped statements, it makes you press back.

“You’re lucky I already decided to reward you,” the authority in your voice is unexpected, but it does the trick. Sakyo huffs at the sudden, downward rush that grips between his legs. He grunts a little louder when you put your palm there, as if you could tell exactly where you were needed.

“Please,” his voice sounds breathy and soft, a warm sigh that has him slouching in the chair. His legs close just a bit around your hand.

“Please what?” you ask, “You were so good at remembering your lines on stage. What do we say?”

“Please, ma’am,” he grunts again, shifting his hips forward very slightly. “I-- I’ve earned it.”

“Yes, you have,” you smile, “very good.”

He’s too tired to argue, pushed to his limits by the demands of rehearsal and waning euphoria of being on stage. But Sakyo can’t help but think that this kind of appreciation outclasses any he received from tonight’s audience. 

His eyes close as you undo his belt, tugging his shirt from his trousers and pressing your fingers against the soft skin of his stomach. You kiss him there, slow and reverent. He gives a shaky sigh.

His fly is undone, you appear to be growing impatient. If he had the mind or energy to, he would tease you about it until you made him behave. He likes that best of all.

But you seem resigned to praising him. Sakyo presses his feet down on the floor, thrusting minutely against your exploring hands and mouth.

Sakyo keeps his own hands to himself, if only so you can have your fun with no interference. He barely knows what he likes, you have more of an understanding of his body than he surely does. He feels your tongue against his pelvic bone and stifles another embarrassing sound.

You don’t give him trouble for that, at least. When you’re alone with him, properly alone and away from the theatre you revel in every noise that he makes. But here, with friends so close at hand-- he’s under no obligation to please you.

Despite the time crunch, you take a moment to appreciate his cock when you gingerly take it from his trouser. He’s never considered it to be anything special, truth be told he’s never considered it at all, but you never fail to look a bit impressed. And a bit hungry.

That thought makes him jump and throb in your small hand. And when you put your tongue to the blunt head, Sakyo can’t quiet his sharp inhale.

You put your hand on his thigh, pushing and holding his leg open and giving you enough room to move. The bed of your tongue presses flat to veins and hot skin. He feels coiled like a spring, wound tight. Your mouth is so warm, so soft and he barely has time to anticipate how it will feel.

You’re on him, bobbing your head to a punishing rhythm. You’ll take no prisoners this evening, you aim to ease that feeling of intense compression in his lower abdomen. Sakyo is grateful, so grateful that the only thing he can say is your name. It’s mangled with satisfaction and desperation, but you still find it sweet.

His eyes are sky-wide. They are two violet stones when you close your mouth around him and give a gentle hum. You press him to the back of your throat, breathing carefully and doing only what you’re comfortable with.

That had to be explained to him the last time, that you would do nothing to him that you didn’t want. He stays quiet now, not wanting to distract. Instead, he wants to trust you.

Sakyo’s quiet, he always is. But this is a pensieve sort of quiet, even as he drifts from thought to painful thought. He wants this forever, not this act in specific but all of them. Everything, as long as he’s yours. 

It’s a beautiful thing to have the lion’s share of your attention. He feels giddy in a quick-lived rush of emotion, bucking his hips in an unprecedented attempt to chase that feeling.

You sputter, but look unoffended. Even as he tries to apologize, you brush off his hands.

“I’m fine,” you say, replacing your mouth with your loose fist for the time it takes to reassure him. “That means it feels good, yes?”

“Yes,” he sighs, “it does.”

“Okay, then it’s fine,” and you begin again with a new vigour. 

It doesn’t feel fine, it feels selfish. And Sakyo isn’t certain when his selfishness was something that became unforgivable.

He doesn’t last long after that. Holding your gaze, even with his fedora obscuring your eyes while you take care of him is a big ask. To his credit, he tries very hard to get your attention. To inform you in advance.

But you just smile, you stay where you are. You heard him, of course, you heard his stumbling attempts to tell you he was going to come. Trying to do so without embarrassment was an exercise in his own misery and he slumps back in his chair with a grunt of your name when he finishes.

His hand leaves the armrest for the first time since starting, he touches your shoulder and squeezes affectionately. Sakyo feels that sudden surge of euphoria again as he finishes, and you keep him in your mouth. Like last time, you swallow and his stomach drops.

“Thank you,” he gasps before he has time to stop himself. You make a show out of licking your lips, rising from your knees enough to grab him by his tie.

He’s kissed again, with more force and tenderness than he expects. Your lips taste like salt and his cheeks flush the colour of bricks.

“Any time,” you reply, “let’s get you presentable again. We have a wrap party to attend.”

It takes a while for his legs to feel steady again. It isn’t until his shirt is tucked in and his overcoat again hangs off his shoulders that he feels confident enough to go anywhere with you. 

You’re fine. You pop right up and take his hand. It’s a beautiful thing to be the man at your side, not just the one in your bed. Even if it’s just this once.


End file.
